Ticket To Heaven
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: A look into Hotch's mind. A combination of case fics both Canon and my own cases told completely from Hotch's POV and a H/P romance. Will be a LONG piece following several cases.
1. Chapter 1

_**TICKET TO HEAVEN**_

"_**I put my heart and soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process."—Vincent Van Gogh**_

I've done it again, I've started another book length story featuring Hotch and Prentiss. This one is a bit different. I love writing Hotch-thoughts, so this will be entirely from his perspective. He is so wonderfully complex, and often misunderstood, and I love playing around in his mind. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

_**DISCLAIMER**_

_THESE STORIES ARE JUST ME GOOFING AROUND. I AM NOT AFFILIATED WITH CBS OR CRIMINAL MINDS OR ANYTHING ELSE. _

_I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS NOR WILL I PROFIT FROM THESE FANFICTIONS. THIS ONE WILL FOCUS ON A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN EMILY PRENTISS AND AARON HOTCHNER SO IF THAT'S NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA—THIS ISN'T A FIC YOU WANT TO READ._

_THIS IS RATED MATURE…THIS IS CRIMINAL MINDS AFTER ALL…_

_PLEASE ENJOY!_

_**Chapter One: Profiling Practice, Profiling Prentiss**_

"_**At different states in our lives, the signs of love may vary: dependence, attraction, contentment, worry, loyalty, grief, but at the heart, the source is always the same. Human beings have the rare capacity to connect with each other, against all odds."**_

Prentiss smelled nice, Hotch thought, as she walked past him into the conference room. She'd changed her lotion or something. She didn't wear perfume—it sometimes interfered with their sense of smell at a crime scene.

He tried to identify it, just absently, while he waited for the rest of the team to join them for a briefing. It wasn't lilac, he decided, as he moved to a chair next to hers. He always sat next to her, and it was now something he did almost unthinkingly. It may have been that by sitting next to Prentiss, it made it easier for him to see the faces of the rest of the team. Something that had been invaluable when he'd been having trouble hearing. And she was the one he'd least needed to see—he always knew what she was thinking during a case _without _having to see her eyes, or her face. Plus, she had a habit of writing down quick little notes as the others spoke, notes that had helped him keep up with the conversation flowing around him. It had been one of his little tricks to keep the team from knowing just how badly the explosion had affected him. And it worked. He got through it.

The scent wasn't lavender, either, he decided as she moved her files around on the table, placing them exactly an inch from the edge. Definitely floral, no fruity undertones. Garcia—she was more likely to wear fruity. JJ, occasionally. But not Prentiss. She was more the floral type. Too…sophisticated for fruity. He'd bet she'd have more sophisticated, more upscale tastes than either of the two blonds. Probably liked fancy dining, fine wines, and the opera.

Or something slightly obscure, he amended, like off-beat theater. He'd heard her and Reid discussing off-the-wall literature, so probably something…artistic…or avant garde.

Hotch used to love the theater. Years ago. He'd watch Hayley in her admittedly amateur productions. Then they'd often go to plays whenever they could. That stopped about five months after he joined the BAU. Just no time, and then he'd not wanted to make the plans—and then risk having to cancel a the last minute.

He wondered if _she, _Prentiss, liked to pick apart the characters profiles afterward like he always had. She probably did. Hayley had always hated when he'd do that, said it ruined the story analyzing motivations. But it was what made the theater enjoyable for him. But that was a long time ago.

But he'd bet Emily Prentiss did exactly that.

Reid came in, his legs almost moving faster than the rest of his body. He always looked so awkward. The boy smiled openly at Prentiss, before taking the chair beside her and moving it even closer.

"I read the book you mentioned," Her voice was husky, and Hotch could swear he heard a wave of affection directed at the genius. He absently ran through the things that happened to the two since Prentiss had joined the team. Little brother—that's what her manner said to Hotch. That was good. For both of them and for the team as a whole.

Dave came in, whistling. Hotch often wondered how the man did it, came across so…unfazed..by all he'd seen. And he had seen a lot. Or was it just a false front?

Dave patted Reid on the shoulder, nodded at Hotch. Stepped up behind Prentiss and squeezed her shoulders, the move just a bit past professional, in Hotch's opinion. His eyes narrowed on the pair.

"Thank you again, Emily." Dave said, smiling down at her. He shocked Hotch by dropping a kiss on her dark hair. She just laughed, apparently easily comfortable with the action, with Dave. She swatted him over her shoulder. Hotch just watched.

"That good, huh, Dave?" She infused her voice with just a touch of sexy undertone that had Hotch's eyes narrowing even more. He shifted in his seat.

"The best. I am eternally grateful." As Dave spoke, Hotch realized something he hadn't noticed before. Dave was attracted to her. Seriously attracted to her. But to her…Dave was just a friend. And Dave understood that. Even accepted it. But there was still a touch of longing in the older man's eyes when he looked at her. When she wasn't looking. Hotch made a mental note of the potential problem that presented.

JJ wandered in, looking soft and beautiful. She took the seat on Hotch's immediate left, then leaned in front of him, immediately seeking Prentiss's attention. Baby pictures were soon pulled from JJ's pockets and then Prentiss was leaning in front of Hotch.

It really was a nice scent, he decided. They spoke around him as if he wasn't even there. It disconcerted him, and he briefly wondered why. Her hair, brushing against his chin as she returned the snapshots to JJ, distracted him from his thoughts. It was soft, he realized, as he brushed it from his face. She hastily apologized—half-heartedly, inattentively—before slipping back into her own personal space.

Her hair was softer than he remembered Hayley's ever being. It smelled clean, no chemicals used on _her _hair, he determined. Natural. That told him she was comfortable with herself physically. No body dysmorphic tendencies for Agent Prentiss. He liked that, in a woman. It was an attractive quality.

She returned the final portrait of baby Henry, her arm brushing against his hand as she did so, just a casual touch. She fumbled the portrait, the tiniest bit of her characteristic clumsiness slipping through. She reminded him a bit of Reid in that. He attributed it to the two smartest members of his team getting so lost in their heads at times that they forget their surroundings.

His hand turned over, instinctively capturing hers to keep the photo from falling.

Her skin was softer than her hair; the realization puzzled him. He'd never thought of SSA Prentiss as having soft, incredibly feminine skin before. Never thought of her—unlike both JJ and Garcia—as even really being feminine, being a woman.

She was always just Agent Prentiss, and one hell of agent, at that. One of the team, a casual work-friend, someone he trusted on the job, but gave little thought to outside of the office. A serious mind that he could depend on to come up with the answer sometimes out of thin air. Much like Reid. He'd always equated Prentiss with intelligence. Ever since she'd read so freely from an Arabic transcript her first case with the team. Always just a part of the team, and one hell of a profiler. The best female profiler he'd ever seen.

She pulled her hand back as the last profiler of the team entered. She never looked at Hotch. He wondered why. Was that normal? He didn't think it was. If it was, had he ever noticed that before? It bore consideration.

Morgan looked at her first and never looked away. Hotch had to admit that of all of the team, Prentiss and Morgan's relationship puzzled him the most. They were like a long and _happily _married couple. They knew each other's strengths, weaknesses, wants, and needs. They rarely even needed words to communicate. Morgan was protective and understanding, while she was accepting and supportive. They had one of the better partnerships he'd seen in the Bureau. Not just the BAU. It was why he often paired them together.

"Em, you so owe me." Morgan said, moving behind her and rattling her seat.

"How so?" Hotch heard the sudden wicked humor underlying her tone. It was a tone he'd only heard her direct at Morgan—or Reid. It spoke of sibling-like affection, teasing, trust, and respect. He'd heard her use it with that Jon Cooley, too, though there had been a slightly different undertone Hotch hadn't been able to put his finger on, in the little time he'd seen her and Cooley interacting.

"That little weasel, Perkins—" Morgan explained. Hotch recognized the name, the man from White Collar two floors down.

"Oh, God. What about him, _now?" _She shook her head as she spoke, sending more of the new scent Hotch's way. It was driving him nuts, trying to figure out what it was.

"Sniffing around your desk again." Morgan added, then snickered. "Looking for you…"

"What did you say to him?" Her fingers began to drum against the table. They were narrow fingers. Small, he saw. Her whole body was somewhat narrow, he realized for the first time. She seemed so much…_bigger…_when working. When in reality…she was barely taller than Hayley. He ran a quick eye down her frame. She was curvier than his ex-wife. Even after Hayley had given birth, she'd not had curves. Prentiss curved…nicely…attractively...he decided, as she continued talking. "It took me months to shake him the last time you encouraged him."

Hotch mentally reviewed what he knew of the man. Perfect politician material. And Perkins knew it, played it up, used it to his advantage. He was missing only one thing to secure a seat in the next election—a perfect political wife. And he was apparently interested in Prentiss?

Prentiss, who grew up in the world of politics, who had countless connections, who spoke multiple languages. Who was intelligent, smart, engaging, beautiful. Yes, Hotch could understand Perkins' focusing on Prentiss.

But Prentiss hated politics.

"Don't worry. I told him you were already seeing someone. That _he _took you to the theater just last night." Morgan shook her chair once more and laughed. Laughed harder when Dave sputtered.

"Thanks, Morgan, I think." Dave said, and Hotch glanced at him, checking closely for how the older man felt. "But I believe it was she who took me."

She did like the theater? And she took _Dave? _Dave, who hated the theater. Why? He had an inkling why Dave would go with her. Probably couldn't force himself not to. This could be a big issue. He'd watch them closely.

Hotch didn't have a _real _problem with fraternization, like he'd told Kevin Lynch, as long as it didn't interfere with Bureau business. But Dave and Prentiss were on the same immediate team.

And Dave's relationships had caused problems in the past. He'd hate to see either of them leave the BAU.

She laughed, a light, happy sound, that almost reminded him of Jack when he was completely happy. Hotch liked the sound. "He complained so loudly when I tried to profile the protagonist. I probably should have dragged Reid along instead. Next time I will."

"Ah, but dinner more than made up for any discomfort." Dave said, "Made by your own two little hands. I felt so special."

"You should. I don't cook for just anybody, you know. What—JJ and Garcia twice, Reid twice, Morgan three times—just because he came around begging. And now you. Thank you again, _Dave, _for agreeing to spend a torturous evening with me at the…theater. My date," She shot a meaningful glare at Morgan as he took his chair next to JJ's, "Cancelled last minute. And I would have hated to waste the tickets."

"Anytime, my dear." Dave said. Hotch wondered if how the older man felt was clear for everyone else to see, or just him because he knew Dave so well? And she'd cooked for him? Did she realize how that would fill a man like Dave with a sense of longing for what he wanted, but didn't have?

She'd never cooked for him. He wondered how she'd look in a domestic situation. He'd seen her kitchen, he remembered. But he couldn't really picture her working _in _that kitchen. She probably _could _cook, he doubted there was much the woman wasn't at least basically proficient at, but he couldn't see her wasting her free time cooking for just one person.

And she rarely ate enough to justify cooking for one person, he'd seen that while on cases. Hotch had grown intimately aware of how trying cooking for one could be. He ate out a lot. He bet she did, as well. Reiterated the loneliness. But was Prentiss lonely? From the way the team talked, they all did things together all the time—or at least with _her. _He'd never seen her in a capacity without the team. He wondered why their relationship wasn't like hers and the rest of the team. Was it him?

Garcia flitted in, hands cradling her laptop preciously. She was one of those who demanded attention immediately upon entering a room. Hotch loved that about her. But _her _attention went past Morgan, JJ, Reid, even him, and settled on Prentiss without hesitation. "Em, chickie, you and I _so _need to talk."

"As soon as the briefing is over." Prentiss said, her tone hinting at a secret, hinting that she already knew what the younger woman needed.

Hotch knew it was almost time for the briefing to begin, but he waited, knowing Garcia would need to get hooked up before it would be entirely effective. As he moved his chair slightly, preparing to stand, he pondered one thing:

Every last member of the team had sought her out. Everyone of them looked at her as the center of the team. Everyone of them saw her first, and _she _was the one to welcome each and everyone of them in an individual and special way.

Everyone but him. He'd not spoken to her, and she'd not spoken to him. But then again, the two of them _rarely _ever spoke about inane things, especially first thing in the morning. The profiler in him wondered why.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two:

_George Washington__**:**_

_Friendship is a plant of slow growth and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation._

Hotch stood to begin the briefing, ruthlessly pushing his new questions about Prentiss to the side. He nodded at JJ, the signal to begin. She clicked an image on the screen. Photos appeared. Hotch was close enough to see Prentiss's eyes flinch. It was the only reaction she let escape.

"Twelve days ago, Salt Water, Montana, population six thousand, police got the first call. Rita and Ted Jones, thirty-eight and forty-two respectively. Their home was found vandalized, their car taken." Hotch said, "more, Ted was shot, execution style. Rita's body was found six days later. Two days after that, Rock trail, Montana, sixty-eight miles away, Kathleen and Michael Webster, suffered a similar fate. Both women were raped then strangled. Locals have finally asked for assistance."

"Do they have any leads?" Prentiss asked, in her cool, calm, business tone. No hint of any of the humor she'd exhibited moments ago was present. This was the Prentiss he saw the most, the one he was accustomed to, the one he was comfortable with.

How did she do it? Why had he suddenly noticed now? Had he just not noticed before?

It bore investigation.

"No," Hotch answered, looking at her directly, "No real leads, in fact the UNSUB has left no trace behind locals are out of ideas. That's why we've been called in and the locals aren't too keen on the feds. So we'll have to tread carefully.

"So are these burglaries turned murders?" Morgan asked. "Was anything taken from the home?"

"A few things. Fenceable items. Easily carried in pockets or a bag. But even those were opportunity items. But the female victims—both were strong, healthy women, who from all accounts would not have gone easily."

"We know the UNSUB had a weapon—possibly a .38." Dave said, "They were most likely taken at gunpoint."

"And if their husbands were already dead, they may have too terrified to resist." Prentiss said, her dark eyes questioning. "You said no trace? No physical, or—"

"No forensic evidence except a size eleven men's shoe print at the Webster home, and several impressions in the carpet at the Jones." JJ read from the file in front of her.

"Even on the women's bodies?" Morgan asked.

"They'd been wiped down with a mixture of bleach, Pine Sol, and dish detergents." Hotch explained, while wondering at what kind of person could cause that much hurt to another and then casually wipe the bodies clean. He dismissed the team with the admonishment to pack winter gear. It got cold in Montana.

I'MWALKINGAWIREFEELSLIKEATHOUSANDWAYSICOULDFALL

Prentiss took the window seat nearest the small table. Hotch took the seat immediately next to hers. He liked to have a table in front of him while he worked. He knew she was the same way. They really did have similar work styles, although their thought processes were decidedly different.

He was more…linear…he decided. He moved in a logical pattern from A to B to C. Prentiss—she was more circular. One thought may lead to another stray thought, which may eventually lead to the solution.

As the plane took off her eyes closed and she leaned back, her customary take off routine. He'd noticed it before, but never given it much thought. He wondered now. The plane evened out and she gave a soft sigh before opening her eyes. Then she was fine. Just take offs and landings bothered her. But she didn't seem afraid of flying. Curious.

Soon, the files were back out. "Reid and JJ, victimology. Garcia—records for the last six months. Dave and Morgan, the Webster crime scene. Prentiss and I will take the Jones."

Best to keep Dave and Prentiss apart until he decided what to do about the problem.

TOWANTISTOBUYBUTTOLIVEISTODIEANDYOUCANTTAKEITALL

Hotch's plans changed once the plane landed and the local sheriff met them. Sheriff JT Taggart obviously didn't want them there. His whole countenance made that clear.

He was around Hotch's age, tanned from years in the sun, with sun-streaked brown hair. He wore black cotton and blue denim and boots. The authentic western wear. This man was the real deal. The scowl he directed at the suit-clad Hotch and the professorial Reid told the senior profiler he didn't think they'd measure up.

The derisive snort he released at his first sight of the _female _half of the team told Hotch he didn't think much of _their _capabilities, either.

But manners had the man removing the cowboy hat on his head and nodding—first at the elder Prentiss and then the two younger blondes. He smiled politely, though there was no _real _warmth in the expression. "Ladies."

Prentiss smiled in return, the polite ambassador's daughter smile Hotch was certain her parents had paid the orthodontist handsomely for. Her hand shot out. "Sheriff Taggart."

Hotch and Dave shared an amused look when the man seemed slightly taken aback at the gesture. But he shook her hand, she stepped back as the rest of the team followed her example. Hotch knew why she'd made the move. Taggart was obviously a chauvinist and by _her _making the first overture by the team would knock him off balance. And keep control in the BAU's court. Hers specifically. She'd defy the traditional feminine stereotype, while allowing JJ to appear the softer, more traditional female of the group. All the while, _both _women would be maneuvering situations to suit the team. And when combined with Garcia—

Hotch just wondered how often they'd played him? The rest of the male members of the team?

He'd have to think about that.

Taggart bluntly gave them the news—their lodgings were a four hour drive away. They'd be staying on the ranch of the Salt Water sheriff. Apparently a full-time rancher and part time sheriff, he was the only one with room for seven guests. And he lived partially between the two crime scenes. This wasn't going to be an easy case.

Not at all.

WHENEVERYTHINGISALLSAIDANDDONE…

Hotch stood back and watched the rest of the team prepare for a four hour car ride—a ride up the side of a mountain, complete with sharp curves. Derek and Reid immediately grabbed the cases housing Garcia's precious computers. Prentiss and Dave moved to grab and store the team's bags in the trunk area of the van.

The two blonds looked at each other warily, had a quick conversation. Hotch moved closer.

"Four hours?" JJ said, in a low whisper. "On a curvy road? We are so screwed."

"I've got Dramamine." Garcia dug through her bag and out a few small packets. "If we double the dose…"

"I've water in my bag." JJ immediately went to Dave's side and grabbed her bag.

"Em, chickie!" Garcia called, "Come here, you!"

Hotch watched as the younger women bullied Agent Prentiss into taking the pills. Apparently she suffered motion sickness. That explained her take-off/landing routine. He wondered why he'd never noticed before.

He and the rest of the team removed their heavy coats to free up space in the van before climbing in. Dave took the front passenger seat, choosing to attempt conversation with Taggart. Hotch was the first in the back.

It surprised him when Garcia directed, very emphatically, that Prentiss needed the very center of the van. Beside him. Prentiss didn't argue. Just climbed in. Sat beside him. Close.

"No window view for you, girl." Morgan said, as he climbed in the rear seat. JJ climbed in beside Prentiss, followed by the rest of the team. The bench seats were small—especially the one he and Prentiss and JJ shared, and Hotch was grateful they'd removed their coats. As it was, they were crammed together.

Prentiss's hair brushed his cheek as she yawned, half an hour into the trip. The Dramamine would be hitting her soon, he calculated, trying to estimate how a double dose would effect someone her size. She wasn't very big, he noticed again, tall, but not very big. The arm pressed against him felt…narrow. Bony. In fact, her elbow was rather sharp, poking into his side.

Her head fell to rest against his shoulder. He looked at her sharply.

"Em's out." JJ declared, waving one hand in front of the brunette's face. "That's good."

"Much better than Atlantic City." Garcia added. "That trip was awful."

"Atlantic City?" Dave asked, his expression soft as he looked at the sleeping profiler.

"Day trip. Last year." JJ started explaining. "So windy I thought we'd be blown off the road. Poor Em, she was green."

"Too stubborn to let us turn back." Garcia added, patting the dark head where it rested against Hotch's shoulder.

"Horrible. But she was fine once we arrived." JJ added. "Next time we were prepared. She should sleep the whole trip. She did last time."

"Poor Hotch. I'd gladly trade you places." Morgan snickered. "Of course, she might drool, hope she doesn't ruin your suit."

"Oh, I'm sure he has plenty of others to replace it if she does." Dave said, a snicker in his own tone.

"She's fine." Hotch said softly, shifting her elbow so it wasn't poking him. His hand lingered, almost of its own volition. The skin on the inside of her elbow really _was _incredibly soft. The thought that she'd probably be that soft everywhere seized his mind, and he coughed.

She _hmmm_ed, irritation momentarily touching her sleeping features. Hotch froze, until he felt her relax against him once again. Hotch relaxed himself, determined to keep that wayward thought from taking root. It wasn't his place to wonder whether his subordinate had soft skin on her back, her stomach, her…thighs.

_Back up a minute! _Hotch reined himself in quickly.

He shifted uncomfortably. She _hmmm_ed again, actually snuggled into his side. She was chilled, he realized, seeing the raised bumps on her arm. Hotch grabbed his coat from where it rested near his feet and spread it over her. She sighed, snuggled into the material. Shifted her hips so her leg was more aligned with his right.

She was pressed tight against his body, and when her right hand rose to fist in the material covering his forearm, he forced himself to relax. What would it hurt? What would it hurt, he reasoned, to let her be comfortable while she slept? Even if that meant he was practically holding her?

He kept himself as still as possible, until he felt his arm going numb. He shifted her as gently as possible, while he spoke softly to Dave. The position wasn't comfortable, not for him and probably not for her either. He pulled his arm free, catching her slightly when she shifted. He dropped his arm behind her, pulled her closer into his side without thought.

He still smelled the floral scent he'd yet to identify, shampoo, lotion, something.

As they took another sharp curve she was pressed against him even more. His mind couldn't help but process the differences between her curves and his ex-wife's. Hotch felt his body tighten, react to having a soft, feminine form pressed so intimately close—a physiological reaction that was not unexpected.

At least that's what he told himself as he shifted again, this time to relieve pressure he _should not _be feeling because of a subordinate.

As she snuggled even closer, all he could think about was how soft she felt, how good she smelled, and how it felt…nice…to be so close to an attractive woman again.

Hell, he thought, this was going to be one long trip.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE: SURVIVAL AND CHANGES

Hotch survived. After about the second hour, he'd said to hell with it. Had decided to just release the tension within himself and make sure they were both as comfortable as possible. If that meant having agent Prentiss practically in his lap, than so be it. He'd just…enjoy…the experience, and push it out of his mind once it was all over. He'd just sit back and enjoy the first real human contact besides his son he'd had since his wife left him—even if it was just contact from an unaware colleague. Hotch would take what he could get.

The second half of the trip went much better. Hotch had shifted again turning his body partially against the window. It freed up more room for her to cuddle close. Which she did. He kept his hand behind her, helped keep her steady as the curves in the road worsened. It wasn't the most unpleasant trip he'd ever experienced.

It was a moment out of time for him; but he was determined _she'd _never know quite how it affected him.

Taggart's eyes met Hotch's in the rear view mirror. "Well be there in about fifteen minutes, better wake Sleeping Beauty, there."

The sarcasm was hidden, but none of the profilers missed it.

"I think she looks more like Snow White, with the hair and all." Dave said, mildly. "And we're all the dwarves."

"Morgan's Dopey." Garcia snickered, reaching over the seat and gently shaking Prentiss awake.

Prentiss fought waking, actually turned her face into Hotch's shoulder. She…pouted…he realized. It took nearly five minutes of team cajoling, shaking, and teasing to wake her.

Hotch made sure he wasn't holding her any longer. He'd hate for her to be embarrassed. And he suspected she would. She wouldn't want to appear…weak…in front of her team leader. She would want to appear confident and capable at all times.

Sleeping in your supervisor's arms would not fit into that image. Not for her.

He analyzed the strange sense of loss he felt when she pulled away, before deciding it was just the human need for physical closeness affecting him.

She blinked slowly, big dark eyes reminiscent of his son's upon waking. Dark brown, darker than his. Jack's were darker brown, too.

Strange he'd never noticed just how dark her eyes actually were before.

She ran one hand over her face, her cheek, where a red spot showed from being pressed against the crease in his jacket. She said nothing, smiled so softly at Dave and Derek's teasing. After a few moments, her yes cleared and her countenance changed from soft, sleepy, vulnerable woman to calm, cool, professional agent. The mask he was most familiar with. He wondered if she always did that as she looked directly at him. "We learned anything new?"

_Yes, that you've incredibly soft skin. Feminine skin, skin that makes a man want to touch you, to feel it over and over again. _He frowned severely, and she stepped back. He relaxed his features, not wanting her to think he was displeased with her. "Nothing probative. Have concluded it was most likely a local, in his thirties or early forties."

She nodded, stepped away from him even more. Had she always done that? Had he always made her retreat like that?

He wasn't always a severe man, he thought. He remembered joking and laughing, even with his teammates. He'd cut up all the time with Jason, Morgan, Elle—he'd laughed with them all the time.

And then Elle had been shot, Jason had left, he and Hayley had split. Responsibility for the entire team soon rested on his shoulders. He'd functioned the best he could, with the new team he'd been given. Including Prentiss, including Dave.

Dave and he were friends, and he knew he could depend on the older man. He'd never let himself depend on Prentiss. His fault. He'd simply…overlooked her.

She hadn't deserved that. She was a good agent, and a kind, compassionate and caring woman. And they probably had a lot in common. Could probably have been good friends. If he hadn't made it clear there was a line between them.

He asked himself if he'd done that to keep himself from getting close to someone like he had Elle. Elle had destroyed a good deal of his trust, and he wondered if Prentiss had unfortunately suffered the backlash. He decided then that she probably had. He probably truly owed her an apology. A big one.

Maybe that was why she'd not even looked to him for comfort after coming out of that damned Colorado compound. Why she'd hugged Reid, let Derek lead her to the ambulance, why she'd let Dave drive her home after their plane had landed. Why JJ and Garcia had stayed with her for a few days, until she wasn't so sore.

She'd asked nothing from him.

He couldn't blame her.

He was just her boss. She was just his subordinate.

She never teased him. Never smiled at him directly, even. He knew barely more about her than he had when she'd first started.

He knew nothing about her personal life. Hadn't even known she liked the theater.

She probably knew more about him by hearing things in the BAU, but he couldn't recall _ever _hearing anything about her.

He didn't know who she dated, who she was friends with, who she _wasn't _friends with. He knew no more about her than he'd chosen to see.

And that was mostly how she functioned as an agent.

The vehicle slowed to a stop, jerking him out of his reverie, and he looked around, taking in the ranch where they'd be staying. He had to bite his tongue to keep a low, crude curse from escaping.

Except for the snow on the ground, and for the lack of a small private church, they could have been on the Seperatarian compound in Colorado. Even the shutters were the same color and style.

It shouldn't have surprised him, he decided. The style of the Colorado compound and this Montana ranch were common to this part of the country. He shot a quick look at the woman beside him, worry for her touching his mind.

Her face was carefully schooled, not revealing anything. Her body was held deliberately relaxed. She was determined—he could feel that—not to let any anxiety show.

Dammit. He hated that she had to be that way. He leaned closer. "You ok?"

"Of course, sir." She said, in a low voice. She didn't look at him. "Just ready to get to work."

He fought the urge to tuck her back against his chest and order Taggart to turn the vehicle back around. To get her—and Reid—hell, all of them—away from this place. Instead, he opened his door. "Good. The sooner we find this guy, the sooner we get back to DC."

"Yes, sir." She said. He decided then that he hated that word, hated it when it came from her lips. it was like a fence or a wall built to stand between the two of them. She followed him from the vehicle, and he watched as she zipped up her dark green parka. Her hat was raised to hide her dark hair and white knit hat. She had those dark glasses on she favored. All he could see was her mouth, which was lax. She took her bag from Morgan, who bumped her shoulder in comfort, then slung it over her shoulder. She tucked her mitten clad hands into her pockets. She said nothing. Just stood back and watched the rest of the team unload their belongings.

Reid stood at her side, the two of them dressed in nearly identical coats. They were both tall and lanky. Both wore dark sunglasses. Both held their bodies slightly taut. Neither of them was lost to the similarities between this place and Colorado.

Both earned another degree of his admiration.

The ranch doors opened and another parka-clad person exited. He was taller than Hotch by a good three inches, wider than Morgan. He ushered the team inside with little hesitancy.

They stood in the foyer, removing hats and gloves before anyone spoke. The new man turned toward Taggart. "_This _the FBI team? Kind of scrawny lot, aren't they?"

"Scrawny?" Garcia asked. "I'll admit JJ, Em, and Reid, maybe…"

"Sorry, hon." The new guy said, smiling, showing a dimpled smile. Hotch supposed some women would find his rugged looks attractive. "Didn't mean any insult. Just expected your whole team to be as big as Superman—or Wonder Woman."

"That's Superman, right there." Garcia pointed at Hotch. He fought a smile at the nickname she'd stuck him with years ago. "Wonder Woman's hiding behind Dr. Reid. She's a bit drowsy right now. Car rides are her Kryptonite. The rest of us are various members of the Justice League, here to help out in your time of need."

Reid shifted, so that Prentiss was more readily visible. Hotch's eyes narrowed when the other man's sparked. Prentiss had removed her coat, revealing that lilac cotton shirt she favored. He had to admit the lower neckline was…eye-catching…as he ran a critical eye over her figure. And the tight charcoal fatigues she wore outlined her rear and legs…nicely. Hotch shifted, chalking his body's reaction up to residuals of having that leg pressed so close to his for so long.

Hotch turned, blocking the man's line of sight with his own body. "I'm SSAIC Hotchner, this is my team, David Rossi, Dr. Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Emily Prentiss, and Derek Morgan."

"Sheriff Allen Harris at your service. And Welcome to the Lucky N. I've only five rooms available, but two of'em have double beds. I'll let you sort yourselves out. Dinner's in an hour, then after that, I figured I'd show you where you can set up and get to work. We've decided to run the investigation from my place, seeing as I have the space, am close to the scenes, and can provide suitable mounts if needed. Can any of you all sit a horse?"

"Yes." Prentiss said, drawing all eyes her way. "What? Does that surprise you?"

"Everything about you is surprising." Dave said, patting her shoulder. "It's been a few years since I've ridden, but I probably won't fall off. You, Em?"

"A few weeks, actually. My horse is stabled at my mother's. I've not had a chance to get up there for the last few weekends." She said.

The ambassador had probably paid a pretty penny for riding lessons, Hotch surmised. It didn't surprise_ him _in the slightest.

"Anybody else?" Harris moved closer to Prentiss, stepping almost past Hotch to do it. Hotch didn't like that.

"Yes." He said. "It's been more than a decade, but I've ridden before." They'd had horses at his father's vacation retreat in northern New York throughout Hotch's childhood. He'd go to the stables and ride for hours. Just to get away. To think. To be alone.

He bet Prentiss used her horse for the same purpose.

"Good." Harris said. "That'll come in handy. I'll show you to your rooms."

Hotch watched him gallantly pick up Prentiss's bag, offer her his arm. Smile charmingly. Hotch decided then that he didn't like Harris. Something about him made Hotch furious.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Hotch's Realizations

_"Contentment is not the fulfillment of what you want, but the realization of what you already have"_

Hotch was the last one to the dining room. He'd taken an extra few minutes to compose himself once entering his room. He'd taken the one next to Prentiss's and Dave took the other. The rest of the team were bunking—literally—in two rooms on the opposite side of the house. And it was a large house, with pleasant and comfortable décor. Solidly middle class, working class.

His team was already seated when he entered. Harris headed up a long, plank-style table along which at least three dozen people sat. With the exceptions of JJ, Garcia, and Prentiss—the room's occupants were all male.. Prentiss was beside Harris, seated at his immediate right, with an empty chair directly beside her. Dave was across the table from her. Both occupied seats of traditionally high status. Hotch would bet money it was Harris who'd brought the team in on this case. He'd been nothing but welcoming—especially with the dark haired woman on his right. Hotch stepped closer, slid into the chair.

"Sir." Prentiss nodded, politely. That cool tone she always used with him. He wondered why it only bothered him now.

Especially when Harris asked her a direct question, and her voice warmed minutely. She liked him, he realized. He watched them interact. Harris leaned forward when he spoke with her, she tilted her head in his direction.. She smiled, something just past professional. There was that spark of humor in her dark, dark eyes.

Harris passed Hotch the mashed potatoes—real potatoes, he suspected.. Prentiss's hand rose to help guide it, and Hotch's covered hers on the bowl. She smiled at _him. _Her attention focused on him for just a moment.

Then she turned back to Harris when he spoke again. Hotch fought the urge to snarl at the other man.

He remained quiet as he ate, trying to analyze just what was going on inside his head—inside his body.

He'd been divorced for over a year. Hadn't been with a woman in longer than that. Attraction was based on two levels: physical and emotional. Physically, Prentiss was a very attractive woman, he may not have noticed that before—but he noticed it now. Emotionally, they had a lot in common, saw a lot of the same things. That was understandable. She was the right age, right background, similar life experiences—objectively, he understood why a man like him would be attracted to a woman like her.

Apparently, his body and mind were telling him it was time to move past Hayley. And because Prentiss was the nearest woman who met his subconscious's needs, he was turning toward her. And he could understand that he was feeling threatened by other males being near her.

Because he understood this, he could put a stop to it, immediately. If he chose to. He resolved to do just that.

But there was nothing stopping them from being friends. In fact, that would only benefit the team in the long run.

After dinner Harris showed them to a large conference-style room where a table had been laid out with copies of all the files and evidence involved. A large white board took up one corner.

"Figured you could do what you needed tonight. Tomorrow, we'll head up the mountain. At least part of us. The others can head over to the Webster place, it's got road access. The Jones' place—only accessible by horse this time of year. Or foot." Harris said, after holding out a chair for Prentiss, then turning to do the same for JJ and then Garcia.

Hotch thought all three women looked impressed by the man's manners.. Hotch wondered how much of the man's behaviors were for show. An uncharitable thought, and he chastised himself before walking toward the white board. "Thanks, Sheriff. We should be fine from this point on. We'll let you know if we need anything else."

It was a dismissal, and Harris wasn't deaf to it.

After the man left, the rest of the team gathered closer.

"This is a different kind of place." Garcia said. "Like we stepped back in time."

"They stood when we entered the room." JJ said, a small touch of awe in her voice. "Helped us with our chairs."

"Called me hon." Garcia snickered. "JJ, miss. And Em—she gets the most respect, apparently."

JJ and Garcia snickered, mimed touching the brim of imaginary hats, nodded comically, then said in unison—in deeper than usual voices. "Ma'am."

Prentiss laughed, that deep laugh that made Hotch fight his own smile.. "Be quiet, you two."

"Hey, at least you get your own room, ma'am." JJ said. "Garcia insisted I take the top bunk. A real bunk bed. I think I got a splinter when I climbed up to check it out."

"There's a skylight in my room." Prentiss admitted. "I can see the stars from my bed. It's nice."

"We should probably get to work, ladies." Dave said, smiling at the three. "I have a strange feeling tomorrow will come really early around here. And some of us will be in for a long day on horseback."

"Not me." JJ said, bluntly. "I've not ridden since I was a little girl. And I don't plan on starting now."

"I'll go." Prentiss said. "I'm used to riding a horse. The rest of you are going to be very, very sore when its all said and done."

"So you ride." Dave said. "Actually own a horse."

"Yes." Prentiss said. "My mother bought me my first pony when I was seven. Have had three more horses since then."

"What's its name?" Reid asked. "What kind of horse is it? How much does it weigh?"

"I've never put her on the scales, Reid." Prentiss laughed. "And she's an Andalusian named Lachesis. She's at the stables, at my mother's estate in Maryland. I go up at least twice a month, preferably more to see her."

"You named a horse after one of the Fates?" Reid asked. "Why?"

"Because when I lost my previous horse, I found Lachesis through the same original stables. It was fate." Prentiss's face was animated, and Hotch just watched, trying to recall whether he'd seen her that enthusiastic about a personal interest before.

He couldn't remember.

"Let's get on track here. This isn't a vacation." He said, quietly drawing everyone's attention. He regretted his words when the mask shuttered over her face and she hid how she was feeling from him. Had she always done that? Was it the natural result of growing up in a political world or was it a result of how he'd treated her when she'd first joined the team? He hoped it was the former, and not the latter.

Hotch felt shame that he'd not considered how his behavior may have been affecting the rest of the team over the last year, year and a half. He made a quick resolution to be more considerate in his dealings with the rest of them.

"Yes, sir." She said, grabbing her pen and holding her body almost rigid.

He smiled at her softly, wanting to reassure her, to let her know he wasn't displeased with her. Her eyes narrowed, and he wondered if he'd overdone it a bit.

He knew then that mending his relationship with her would be a bit more difficult than he'd thought. He'd have to give it a lot of consideration when he got the chance. He couldn't just expect changes to occur between them overnight. That would be unrealistic.

He guided the discussion, probing deeply into the case for the next two hours. Frustration clenched at him, they'd not been able to identify much more than what they'd first came with. He finally dismissed the group, knowing that they'd have to gather more information before they could go any further.

He waited for Dave and Prentiss, before heading to their 'wing' of the large, sprawling ranch house. Hotch estimated there was a least twelve bedrooms in the place, maybe even more.

Harris's operation was probably quite successful.

Dave and Prentiss were speaking softly, unintentionally excluding him once again. He wondered if that was something that happened a lot—and why he hadn't noticed before. Had he been in a cloud all this time?

What else had he missed?


	5. Chapter 5

_A man of character finds a special attractiveness in difficulty, since it is only by coming to grips with difficulty that he can realize his potentialities—Charles de Gaulle (1890-1970)_

Hotch felt slightly uncomfortable in the one lone pair of jeans he'd packed in his ready bag. He was not a denim kind of man. Chinos, trousers, those were what he felt the most comfortable in. Add in the thick black snow parka that was a tad too snug in the shoulders and the winter underwear he'd been given, and he wasn't the least bit at ease.

He was the first one on the porch. He, Dave, and Prentiss would be heading up the hills via horseback soon, and he needed a few minutes to himself to clear his head. Try to get the memories of the previous night's dreams out of his mind's eye. Dreams that had involved him and a naked colleague.

He'd woken with her name on his lips, and his body tight and ready for what his subconscious was telling him to do. To her. With her. That soft, soft skin. The scent he'd been unable to identify had haunted throughout the night.

He wanted to find out what it was so badly he'd dreamed of it.

He'd skipped breakfast, not quite ready to see her. Not yet.

He'd not get his wish, he realized, as the door opened behind him; he turned and saw the dark green of her parka. "Sir."

Dammit, he hated it when she called him that. How could he get her to stop without telling her _why _it suddenly bothered him? His voice was low, soft, chiding. "Prentiss. What are you doing out here so early? It's freezing out here."

"You're out here." She countered. "We missed you at breakfast. I brought you some coffee and something to eat. You'll need the extra energy this morning."

She held out a muffin and a mug, her hands caught in thickly-woven pink mittens. The color was so girly, he almost smiled. Pink. Prentiss didn't seem the _pink _type. "Thank you."

"What are you doing out here, by the way?" She asked, shivering even in her parka. Hotch moved slightly, blocking the wind from her smaller frame. "I figured you'd be like Dave and I."

_Dave. _He almost hated hearing her say that word as much as he did her using _sir. _"Like how?"

"Staying inside until the absolute last minute to savor any last drip of warmth we're likely to get for several hours." She wrapped her arms around herself, the sight somewhat comical, as her parka was limiting her range of movement. Her white knit cap covered nearly all of her dark hair completely and she'd pulled the dark green hood of her parka tight against that white knit, and close against her mouth. Those sunglasses once again hid her eyes. The only thing that really showed was her nose, and it was slightly red. Her scarf hung limply around her neck. He hoped she knew to pull it over her face when they got moving, and he resisted the urge to vocalize that thought. "Not out here catching an admittedly excellent sunrise."

"Just needed some time to think, Agent Prentiss." He liked the feel of her name on his lips, he decided. _Emily. _She didn't really look like an _Emily. _Emily's were small, frilly, dainty little blonds or redheads. Emily's didn't know how to use guns, or look at crime scene photos. Every adult _Emily_ that Hotch had ever known was a housewife, sweet, delicate, and frilly.

Emily Prentiss was not a housewife-type. She was a bundle of complete, prickly contradictions. And Hotch had to admit—those contradictions were very intriguing. His body and subconscious weren't listening to his conscious self, he realized. He'd made a vow—and reaffirmed that vow several times during the night—that he'd not think of her that way. That he'd continue seeing her as nothing more than one hell of an agent. He'd even decided not to risk it with a deeper friendship. Because he knew the statistics. A single male and a single woman—if there was any spark of attraction on either side—had a difficult time being friends for long term.

He didn't want to mess with his team. He didn't want to jeopardize either of their careers. He didn't want to risk…if he was honest with himself…getting hurt or hurting someone again. It was just flat out not a good idea for him to want her.

Not a good idea for him to want to take her back into their 'wing' of the rambling house, lock the door to his room, with him and her inside, and explore all that soft, exquisitely feminine skin until he found the absolute source of that new, intriguing scent she'd been tempting him with for the last twenty-plus hours.

What he definitely needed was a swift kick in the ass to get those thoughts out of his head, he decided. Or several hours of punishing horseback riding until his lower body was completely numb. _Then _she could probably strip naked in front of him, and he'd not feel one single thing.

He'd be able to look, though.

He wondered if she had freckles or if that creamy skin extended all over her body. He vaguely remembered hearing from somewhere that she had a tattoo. Hadn't he overheard her and Garcia discussing Lynch's? Hadn't _Emily _laughed and said a tattoo needle didn't hurt _that badly? _Didn't that mean she'd experienced it first hand?

Hotch rolled the coffee around in his mouth as he pondered that. Where would a woman like Emily Prentiss get a tattoo? What part of her body had she let be seen by a stranger for something so permanent?

She had a bit of a daring streak? A tattoo wasn't something for the faint of heart, a tattoo was a permanent symbol of something for most people. What would mean enough to Emily to be etched on her body through blood and ink?

He didn't know.

He also didn't know when he'd started calling her Emily in his mind. Had it just been a few minutes?

"Sir? Hotch? Are you ok?" She moved, one mittened hand wrapping around his parka-covered wrist. He could almost feel her touch burning him. He jerked back slightly, before his eyes flew to her face. She backed up, her hand falling from his arm slowly.

He suddenly felt like an ass. "I'm sorry, Emily. I got caught up in what I was thinking, I forgot I wasn't alone. You startled me. I apologize."

"It's ok." Her words were hesitant, her arms crossed in an instinctively defensive stance. She backed a bit farther away. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'm going back in, see if Allen—Sheriff Harris—is ready. He said something about taking me down to the horse barn to pick out suitable mounts for me and Dave. And..you…if you'd like. I'm not sure how strong of a rider you are, so it may be best if you waited for Harris's man to take you down there."

"Probably." Hotch felt his throat constrict, felt the first rush of adrenaline-laced anger. _Allen _was taking her—alone—to the horse barn. Alone. And he was attracted to her. And she called him by his first name. Going with him willingly. That wasn't like her. It wasn't like her to develop a bond with someone while on a case.

Of course, she _had _seemed close to Detective Cooper when they'd been in New York. But that man had been married. She'd treated him almost like she treated Morgan, he remembered. That was one thing, but sneaking off to a barn with some cowboy sheriff?

Wasn't like her at all.

He looked at her, saw the way her shoulders were back, even though her arms were still crossed, saw the way her chin stuck out slightly stubbornly. Had he always made her so defensive, so easily?

Was it the way their professional relationship had played out since she'd joined the team, or was it something…more?

She seemed very aware of his slightest movement, he realized. She'd instinctively stepped back when he'd stepped forward.

Interesting. Intriguing. Something about him was making her slightly nervous. "I want to have a few words with Morgan before we head up the mountain. I trust you and _Sheriff Harris _to pick me a mount. Dave and I'll join you shortly. Thanks, Emily, for the coffee and muffin."

Hotch made a bold gesture—he reached out as he moved to walk past her and squeezed her elbow. Let his hand linger. She looked up at him, but he couldn't see her eyes, see her lips, see any of her expression to read how she felt.

But she didn't back immediately away, pausing for a moment before she stepped back. He took that as a good sign. "You're welcome, sir."

He turned back toward the front door just as it opened and the man himself exited. Harris wore the same large parka as yesterday, but his head was bare, as was his face.

Hotch glowered at the man as Harris wrapped _his _hand around her elbow, in the same spot Hotch's had. She didn't pull away from Harris _at all. _

Hotch's glare deepened.


	6. Chapter 6

TICKET SIX

"_Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.__" JOSH WHEDON_

Her laughter rang out, and Hotch felt his teeth grind for the umpteenth time. Why did Harris seem to have the ability to get right through her defenses within hours, but she'd barely looked at _him _all morning?

Did he want her looking at him? Why? He ruthlessly pushed that question aside for the hundredth time since the ride up the mountain began. He tried to focus on the case, on the task at hand, he really tried. But his position on the snowy trail put him in perfect view of the way Emily Prentiss sat a horse. She sat a horse real well. Made him wonder whether she'd sit something else well.

Hotch once again ruthlessly banished that thought. This was his damned _subordinate, _for Hell's sake. He'd never had those kind of thoughts about Elle, or JJ, or Garcia, or any of the other women he'd worked with through the years.

So why this one, and why so suddenly? It had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd first smelled her perfume. Twenty-four hours since his body had completely gone haywire. Was a woman's scent enough to send a man into a mating frenzy? Was that all it took?

It had been so long since he'd went through this with Hayley; he couldn't help but wonder—had it been _like _this with Hayley? Hotch honestly couldn't remember.

He was so lost in staring at his subordinate's anatomy he almost didn't hear Rossi and his chestnut approaching. Hotch tightened his hold on the reigns to his own mount when the beast sidestepped.

Rossi was almost whistling. "Good thing _she _can't see just exactly what we've both been looking at for the last hour, isn't it?"

Hotch didn't bother answering. He just made a point of looking ruthlessly away.

Rossi continued in a lower tone. "I don't think I've ever seen _you _look at her in quite that way. In fact, I don't think I've seen you look at another woman _ever. _Just Hayley. Of course, _she's _a diametric opposite of your ex-wife. So it could just be a curious sort of rebound staring."

"Profiling me, Dave?" One difference Hotch had always…appreciated…between David Rossi and Jason Gideon was Rossi's relentlessness. He'd pick and pick until he got to the heart of any matter. Jason would just give some cryptic, obscure message in his own particular 'lesson-imparting' way. Not Dave. Dave was the annoying 'I know a secret-you wanna' talk about it' type. Irritating.

"Yep. You've been rather…obvious…this morning. Something happen I should know about?" Dave kept his tone low, and Hotch appreciated that. He didn't want her—or _Harris—_overhearing their conversation. "Let's see. I first noticed you watching her during the briefing. Not something you normally do. Of course, she was preoccupied with whatever secret she and Garcia shared to notice. But I did. Of course, I find myself watching her a lot, too. So I can understand where you're coming from."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Hotch kept his voice flat, though he knew his long-time friend would see through the lie.

"And then, you're eyes were glued to her during take-off. We won't even mention the drive up this mountain. Just where exactly were your hands for that entire trip? Lucky bastard. I don't think you've _ever _paid that much attention to Emily in one week as you did just yesterday. Curious, that. Don't you think?" Dave's words were goading, and Hotch's shoulders tensed, the move translating to his mount. The horse side-stepped again.

"Havin' a bit of trouble with old Trusty, there, Agent Hotchner?" Harris drawled. He and Prentiss—_Emily—_had paused to wait for him and Dave to catch up. They'd obviously caught Hotch's struggle with the big bay.

"No." Hotch knew his tone was short, bordering on the rude side. "Just lost my concentration while discussing something with Agent Rossi."

Emily cocked her head to the side, then pushed her glasses back up her nose. She looked like a grasshopper, if Hotch was completely honest, with those big glasses and her dark green parka. Looked just like a little bug. Cute.

He resisted the urge to smile at her, fought to suppress the emotion tugging at him. Then it hit him—he'd just considered his subordinate _cute. _Cute was different than attractive. Cute was even different from _sexy. _Cute was a softer thing, something beyond the shallow that just physical attraction could be. Cute was how a man looked at a woman he cared about, a tender type of emotion that could go way beyond any physical attraction.

Cute was…different. Cute was soft, tender, almost loving, at times. Was that how he looked at her? If so, why hadn't he ever noticed before?

"You sure? We can go slower if we need to." Harris said, the words holding—at least to Hotch's way of interpretation—just the smallest hint of male challenge. He watched as Harris leaned just a bit closer to _her. _He fought the urge to snarl.

"No need. We need to stop wasting time." Hotch's words came out more severe than he intended, and he saw her tense, her shoulders go back. The slight smile on her face slipped away, replaced by that damned cool mask he was beginning to think she wore only for him. He hated that mask.

Hated himself for causing it, yet again.

She was more subdued the rest of the way up the mountain, though Harris certainly tried to draw her out.

She never looked at Hotch. He just took the time to think over their relationship, before coming to a specific conclusion. She was…different…with him, even from a few months ago. Almost as if she _deliberately _sought to avoid him.

He'd thought they had grown a little bit closer after Colorado; God knows it had hurt him to hear her go through that ordeal. But that closeness started to be eradicated after her friend's death. After she'd come closer to losing it than she ever had before.

Had he failed her? Is that why she seemed to want nothing to do with him? He clearly remembered the expression in her eyes as she'd walked up to him, offering to give him her badge and gun.

She'd looked so vulnerable, had been so…fragile…during that entire ordeal. She'd been more broken than when she'd stumbled out of that damned compound months earlier.

But instead of turning directly to him, she'd almost clung to…Dave. To Dave, who had been protective, who had watched over her like a worried…lover. Was that when Dave's own feelings changed? Did she realize?

Was she angry with him because, unlike Dave, he couldn't be right at her side for her to lean on? He would have been there, just as he would have been for any member of his team…his family.

Had she not realized he'd been doing the best he could to protect everyone's jobs in that time? Was that why there was that slightest divide growing between them?

For the last several cases, it had been much like it had been between them in the beginning. She'd seemed more comfortable with Morgan and the others, so he'd let her be with Morgan and the others. And he'd thought nothing of it. Now he started to wonder.

Hotch hated this insecurity, and for the quickest of moments, he felt the old rancor he'd once held toward her resurface.

She chose that moment to look over her shoulder at him. It didn't take a profiler to read how her body stiffened, how her spine went straight.

_Dammit. _Why did she have to choose _that _very moment to look at him? Why did she somehow _always _catch him at his worst moments?

Their whole relationship had seemed to be based on the worst moments. At least in his mind. He remembered how she'd looked standing in his office that first time, her grin nervous. Remembered how coldly he'd treated her for that next little while, angered that she'd been chosen to replace Elle. A choice he hadn't gotten to make. He remembered how bluntly she'd demanded to know why he was at her apartment, why he'd dared to invade her space, just minutes after he and Hayley had had their most definitive argument ever.

He remembered her interview during the Katie Jacobs abduction, remembered how she'd gone in ruthlessly with the uncle. He'd admired her then, admired and wondered at the words he'd heard unspoken beneath her tone.

He remembered how pale she'd been when Det. Cooper had been injured, how her thin body had trembled after he and Kate Joyner had arrived on the scene. How her eyes had flashed a tiny bit of relief seeing him walking toward her.

How that relief had faded away when he'd not spoken a word to her. Why hadn't he? Had he been such an ignorant, cold bastard for some particular reason—or just because it had been her? If it had been JJ how would he have reacted? Differently than he had with Pren—Emily? He honestly didn't know.

And then it had been Cyrus. Hotch had never been more aware of the divide between himself and Prentiss than he had in the moment she'd come out of that building, all bruised and battered, but still strong and resilient. She'd not even looked at him. And while they'd not grown particularly _closer _since then, he hadn't thought he'd done anything to erode the relationship they'd had. He'd thought things were stabilizing between them—hadn't they worked well together tracking that snake, Viper? Hadn't he made a point to partner up with her on a more regular basis? So when had _her _feelings toward him changed?

It had to be when her friend had died. Did she think he'd failed her? Had he?

Was that why _she _seemed to want nothing to do with _him _lately?

Dammit, Hotch hated insecurity. Especially his own.

His glare deepened.


	7. Chapter 7

_**To read a sample CRIMINAL MINDS script I recently finished, please visit my writing website at **_

_**http :// homepages. ius. edu/ bgoller/ bridgetgoller/ writinglinks/ **__(without spacing of course!)_

_--I'd love to get input from fans of the show!!!!!!!!!!_

**Ticket To Heaven Seven **

(AN: _This story is intended to be as long as my Lion series, and is designed to run parallel to the tail end of season four—and cover SEVERAL cases of my own making. Therefore some chapters will be more case-fic than ship-fic. I want to also explore how I think Hotch will approach forming a profile. Please let me know if I have a handle on this!)_

_A few observations and much reasoning lead to error; many observations and a little reasoning to truth.__  
__**Alexis Carrel**_

Hotch had never worked a crime scene in six inches of snow, but Harris and Prentiss seemed to be equally at home in the drifts. Although, Hotch had no trouble seeing how her narrow frame shivered in the March winds. Harris stepped closer, using his big body to provide a modicum of shelter for her as they stood staring at the home of the first set of victims.

For the first time in near memory Hotch found himself actually struggling to keep his attention on the case instead of wandering to his teammate.

That was unacceptable. He ruthlessly shoved everything but the reason for their presence out of his mind, determined that this _awareness _of her would end immediately. He marched resolutely through the back door of the Jones home. The crime scene tape was pushed aside in a move of long habit.

The first thing Hotch liked to do when at a crime scene was get a sense of who the victims were. Only by knowing the type of people who attracted the UNSUB could they get a fix on what type of person the UNSUB was. At least—that's how Hotch worked. Once he had that part in his mind, he would take things from the angle of the UNSUB. Would slip into the mind of the monster. He did it every time.

Rita Jones had been thirty-eight years old at the time of her death. Her husband, Ted, forty-two. Rita, a brunette, was of slightly over average height, thin build even though she'd given birth to three children, Richard, Theodore, and Gabriella, ages six, three, and one. Three children named after grandparents, tradition very important in this family.

Pictures, casual snapshots as well as posed portraits littered every surface of the updated and modern kitchen. Probably continued throughout the house. Hotch took a careful look around—the kitchen was Ted's domain. The utensils and pots and pans were arranged on slightly higher shelves than would have been comfortable for the woman. And Ted had stood six foot six. Six foot six, and strong from years of working a ranch. The UNSUB had to be equally as strong. Hotch filed that thought away for later consideration.

Even though they lived in an area where gender roles were still along the traditional paths, Ted Jones was comfortable in a domestic role. Hotch made a mental note.

Handwritten notes were stuck to the refrigerator. Most were in a feminine hand. Little reminders to pick up coffee, to pay the electric bill. Normal little notes that told Hotch that Rita Jones, at least, was less detail-oriented. Was probably a bit of a day dreamer, who often had trouble remembering little things.

A few were in a heavier hand, masculine, and similar to Hotch's own left-handed scrawl. Ted Jones was left handed. His notes were more ranch oriented, things pertaining to cattle, antibiotic bills, and an 'I love you' to his wife.

Ted Jones had been secure in his relationship with his wife. And the note was dated, six months earlier. Which told Hotch that Rita Jones had left the note up there.

They had had a strong, comfortable, functioning relationship. Hotch learned this before even making it out of the kitchen.

Prentiss and Harris entered a few moments behind him. Hotch knew Dave would be entering from the other side.

"Sheriff Harris," Hotch began in a low tone, "Tell us exactly what you know."

"We found the bodies…" The taller man began.

"No. Tell us what you knew about _them."_ Dave said, as he came up behind Prentiss. She started, the older profiler's movements apparently having gone unnoticed until he spoke. There was a blind, Hotch realized, between the hutch and the hallway. "Rita and Ted, and their three children."

"Met about ten years ago. She was a journalist, new to the area, on assignment, I think. Had arranged with him to do an article about a new strain of feed he'd developed. Word has it she took one look at the place, the man, and never left." Harris began, and Hotch could hear the small touch of grief in the other man's voice.

He'd most likely known the Jones family. Hotch hadn't realized. "Anything you can tell us that may explain how they caught the attention of the UNSUB will help us catch him sooner."

"Ted and Rita, they kept to themselves, most folks out here do. They were involved in the oldest boy, Ritchie's, school activities. But the schools around here, they don't do too much. They understand the commitment the land can be. Rita and Ted, they both valued their children's education." Harris sighed.

Prentiss reached a hand out and wrapped a mitten around the man's forearm, an empathetic show of support. The man smiled down at her. Hotch didn't miss it. He didn't let himself think about it. Not then, not with the remnants of the dead couple's life surrounding him.

It wouldn't be fair to Rita and Ted Jones if he wasn't one hundred percent focused on finding the answer.

"What did you know about their routine?" Dave prompted again. "How well did you know them?"

"Ted and I went to school together. Same class. Usher at their wedding. Dated his sister for about three weeks during my senior year of college." Harris said, pulling his hat off his head and rubbing his eyes. "We'd get together now and then and have a few beers. But that wasn't unusual in this area. Rita had a few close friends, the librarian in town, a few other ladies she'd meet with on an almost weekly basis, I think; I can get you their numbers."

"We'd appreciate it." Dave said, as Hotch headed down the hall leading to the living room. More pictures covered the walls. Two dark-eyed little boys, and a laughing, dark-eyed, dark-haired little girl. Beautiful children who didn't deserve to be alone so early in life. Hotch felt his resolve tighten. It hit him every time he was faced with the reality that his job entailed.

Three children would never see their parents again, just because something in some monster's brain had went haywire.

He heard light footsteps behind him and he recognized them as Prentiss's. She sounded different than JJ. Hotch had realized that months earlier when his hearing had been spotty. JJ stepped lightly, quickly, probably due to an athletic background. Prentiss walked with more deliberation. A little less grace than JJ; even years of practice couldn't erase just the slightest bit of clumsiness. Awkwardness, even though the woman herself exuded confidence and grace. Contradictory.

"The attack happened just outside the dining room." She motioned with one hand to the room just off the left of the kitchen. It was a half step below the floor level of the kitchen, a recessed area that faced large windows. The view of the mountains was spectacular. "Probably subdued him first, but how?"

"Her." Hotch paused for a moment. "Take off your coat for a moment."

"Ok…" She did as ordered then moved to stand in front of him, shoulders rolling back slightly, giving just a hint of nervousness. Had she always been that nervous of him? Strange, he'd never noticed. "Why her?"

"How tall are you?" He asked, mind running over Rita Jones bio while his eyes cataloged Prentiss. "Five nine? Five ten?"

"Five eight plus two inch boots." She shrugged. "The victim was five nine."

"How tall was Ted?" Dave came up behind Prentiss, one hand rising to take her coat.

"About my height. We tend to grow'em tall out here." Harris said from where he'd walked up with Dave.

"What are you thinking, Hotch?" Dave asked slowly.

"Why do you think he subdued her first?" Harris asked.

"Because Jones loved his wife, and as a man six and a half feet tall, it would take a large threat to control him." Hotch said, thinking what he would have done if someone had broken into his home and threatened his wife…when he'd had a wife. "He would have reacted with more caution if the physical threat was to his wife. Did he carry a weapon?"

"Most out here do. Never know what you'll run into when your out on the trail, up in the hills." Harris confirmed. "His father gave him a handgun on graduation from high school. It's a traditional gift in these parts."

"So you're a six and a half foot tall man used to working hard. You're experienced with a weapon and would have been carrying it. _Why _do you not use it?" Dave spoke slowly, in his customary profiling manner. Hotch waited, knowing the older man would arrive at the same point Hotch was getting to. "Something with a greater consequence, a greater value than your own safety must be at stake. And a man like Ted Jones…it would be someone he loved. And the children were with Ted's parents that afternoon."

Hotch nodded. "So the threat was to his wife. Most likely a gun pointed in her direction until Jones lowered his own weapon. Prentiss, you be Rita, Harris you be Ted. Step it out, slowly."

Hotch stepped back, until it was his turn. Then, almost effortlessly, like he'd done a thousand times before, Hotch stepped into the mind of the madman.


	8. Chapter 8

TICKET TO HEAVEN CHAPTER EIGHT

Madness is to think o f too many things in succession too fast, or of one thing too exclusively.—VOLTAIRE

Hotch walked it out, from the POV of the UNSUB, taking the UNSUB's steps, trying to think the UNSUB's thoughts. Prentiss and Harris walked it out from the other two players point's of view, ending with Hotch miming shooting Harris. They walked through it several times, from several different scenarios. But Hotch knew the truth—something in what they were doing was just…off.

But as he placed his left forearm around Prentiss's neck, simulating a choke-hold, he couldn't put his finger on just what it was. Her hair brushed his chin and he sighed, before taking a deliberate step away.

It would be all too easy to lose his train of thought if he let himself concentrate on IDing that damned scent she'd used again.

The small group gathered around him expectantly, waiting for his opinion. It still surprised him sometimes that _he _was the leader of this strange band. Somehow that didn't always seem right, either. He shoved those thoughts away to focus on the task at hand.

"Access to the home was too easy." Hotch said to the group gathered around him. "Lacked a challenge."

"Ok. Rita and Ted, like ninety percent of the occupants of this area, probably left the door unlocked." Harris said, and Hotch heard the obvious frustration, confusion, and impatience in the man's voice. "What does that mean?"

"Our UNSUB obviously likes a challenge." Dave said. "Ted Jones was a big threat, not the average victim."

Hotch nodded, just as his telephone rang. "Hotchner. Morgan, what do you need?"

"Hotch, man. The Webster's point of contact with the UNSUB didn't start in the house, it _ended _there." Morgan said in Hotch's ear. "We found evidence near the end of the Webster's' drive that indicated a minor traffic collision, and the crime scene guys confirm the car had most likely suffered a collision recently. What's more—they found gunshot residue on the interior edges of the car's grill."

"What does that mean?" Hotch asked, aware of both Dave and Prentiss moving closer. He quickly switched his cell onto speaker.

"It gets odder, man. Michael Webster's blood was found on the undercarriage of the car."

"The undercarriage?" Prentiss asked, "How did it get there?"

"I don't know, but from what preliminary reports are saying—it looks like the car was _driven _through Webster's blood, and some splashed, hitting the undercarriage."

Only Hotch was close enough to see the slight flinching of Prentiss's eyelids, the way she swallowed quickly. Then the mask shuttered down.

"A significant amount?" Hotch asked.

"A _considerable_ amount." Morgan added via speaker.

"I'm lost. What does this all mean?" Harris wrapped his hand around Prentiss's arm, pulled her slightly toward him. He took her coat from Dave's hand and held it for her to slip on.

Hotch felt like a jackass—her trembling had barely registered in his mind. It shamed him that this stranger was more in tune with a member of his team's needs than he was. "We don't know yet, but we need to find the Jones's car. Morgan—keep us informed."

"Will do, man. You all be careful up there." Morgan disconnected, and Hotch thought for a moment. "Ted's body was found in the hallway. And the crime scene reports indicated the floor had been washed of almost all but the smallest traces of blood. It's possible the amount of blood found was so small was because Ted's body had been moved."

"We need to consider the possibility that Ted was brought here and dumped, and that Rita's murder didn't happen in this house at all." Dave said, reaching out to help untangle the scarf hanging down Prentiss's back as he spoke. "What was exact TOD on both, again?"

"Four O'clock in the afternoon for Ted, that Wednesday." Prentiss said from beneath the knit material. The house was cold, the crime scene technicians having lowered the temperature setting to help preserve any biological evidence in the near two weeks since the crime had occurred. With her smaller frame, it was natural that Prentiss would be feeling the temperature more than the larger men. Hotch stepped closer, so that she was boxed in between him and Dave, with Harris behind her. It was an almost completely natural action, he would done the same for JJ without a second thought.

Still, he didn't miss the startled expression that flashed into her dark eyes before she looked back down at the autopsy report she clutched in one _un-_mittened hand. Had he never done something as simple for her, something as considerate as merely sharing a bit of body heat?

Did he honestly treat her that much differently than he did JJ or even Garcia? He hoped not, but it's possible he did. But JJ and Garcia had always come across as needing a bit more emotional support than Emily Prentiss ever had, so he probably _did _treat the younger two women a bit more…softly…than he did the one beside him.

Something else for him to consider. Later. "And for Rita Jones? What was her TOD?"

"Because she was dumped in what amounted to a three foot snow bank, the best guess was about twenty-four hours later." Prentiss answered. "Why?"

"I don't know. Something…just…" He said. "I think we need to confer with Morgan, JJ, and Reid. Harris, where was the Webster car found?"

"Up on Two-Bit Trail. Near the access point. Found it nearly three days after they found the wife's body." Harris said. "Why?"

The man had an annoying habit of always questioning. Hotch frowned before replying. "It was assumed after the second murders, I expect, that the UNSUB had taken the Webster's car and fled in it to the border, correct?"

"From what I understand that's what Taggart and his people believed. He's not real forthcoming. I had to basically force my way in to his investigation once my own stalled. He's a bit territorial." Harris shrugged.

No one misunderstood, they'd worked with enough local LEOs to understand. Harris was the exception rather than the norm. Hotch had played the game a thousand times, it was just part of it.

Harris ran one hand over his forehead, in a classic gesture of frustration. "We need to be heading back soon. I don't want us out on the trail after dark."

"I think we have everything we need here." Hotch looked toward Dave and Prentiss for confirmation. They both nodded. Then she paused. "Emily? Something we've forgotten?"

She looked at him oddly for a small moment, then he realized he'd slipped, called her by her first name. He looked away quickly, eyes catching the slightly amused gaze of Dave, before returning to her face. "The report said something about a series of odd impressions in the carpet in the master bedroom? Did you ever identify what exactly those impressions were?"

"No. You'll all need to see them for yourselves. None of us have a clue."


	9. Chapter 9

Ticket to Heaven Nine

We must reckon with the possibility that something in the nature of the sexual instinct itself is unfavorable to the **realization** of complete satisfaction." Sigmund Frued

Hotch didn't know what to make of the impressions, and he knew the same was true for the rest of his group. Still, it would have to wait. He didn't want them out on the trail after nightfall either. It was just too damned cold for that.

He stood back as Harris offered Emily a hand up, holding the reins of the horse she'd ridden. She didn't back away from _him_. Hotch resisted the urge to growl. Had he ever felt that possessive over a woman in his lifetime?

No, and that was the worst part. He'd done nothing to claim the right to _be _possessive over Emily Prentiss, especially this quickly. One day, that's all it had been. He wasn't an obsessive man, not with women, anyway, so why was it suddenly all he could think about with her? Was he finally going over the edge? He had to get a handle on this, _before _she found out and it made things even more terribly awkward between them. He'd not put her in that position, no woman deserved that. And he'd not mess with his team, not like that. If he'd not want Dave to, then he couldn't either. Simple as that.

But that didn't mean he wanted to see her get involved with some man in the middle of nowhere. What could she and Harris really have in common? Emily was a sophisticated, highly intelligent federal agent. Harris was a part-time sheriff and full time cattle rancher. He'd hate to see her get hurt.

He momentarily contemplated whether or not he should speak to either of them before deciding it really wasn't any of his business. He'd just keep an eye on things, and if it started looking too serious, he'd send her out with Morgan and take JJ with him and Harris instead.

As they rode it got progressively colder. Harris paused once, pulling a blanket from behind his saddle and offering it to Prentiss. Hotch estimated they'd have another good hour before reaching Harris's ranch, and the temperature was getting almost painfully low. He fought the urge to suggest they ride faster. They couldn't afford someone getting injured out here. He would see to it that she was given something hot to drink as soon as they reached the ranch. She'd had a bit of a head cold a few days ago—the same one JJ had caught from Henry and brought into the BAU—and he definitely didn't want her coming down with pneumonia. That was the last thing they needed.

He almost thought they'd never arrive back at Harris's ranch. He also couldn't remember a time when he'd been so cold. He was first off his mount, moving quickly to _her _side. He had his hands up to assist her before he even realized he had moved.

He couldn't see her eyes hidden behind the big bug glasses. But she took his offered help and slid almost gracelessly off the horse. He could feel the shivers racking her frame and he pulled her as close to his side as possible while still keeping a respectable _colleague _distance between them. Several of Harris's men met them at the barn doors, ready to take the horses and see to their needs. Harris paused a moment to speak with his men.

Hotch kept Emily between him and Dave, and the three of them hurried up the steps into the house. JJ and Garcia met them at the door, blankets in hand and mugs of steaming coffee outstretched. Hotch took one from the younger blonde and held it while Emily removed her coat. Her cheeks were red, chapped from the cold—and made her eyes brighter. He handed her the first mug.

She thanked him before turning back to the two other women.

Hotch was oddly hurt that her focus moved so quickly away from him. Still, he understood it. They were casual work friends—he'd have to remind himself of that. He would. If he did decide to attempt to change that—and at that point he was of two minds—it would take time, probably months.

But he'd always been an impatient man, even though he rarely let it show since joining the BAU. Still, he understood the need for careful planning, for attention to every detail—especially with situations that truly mattered.

So he'd take his time developing a friendship with Prentiss.

JJ and Garcia hurried Prentiss away, the three of them heading quickly toward Prentiss's room. She'd most likely change out of the snow-dampened pants and relax for a few moments with her friends. Then they'd reconvene for dinner, before heading back to the conference room.

They'd go over the compiled evidence, see what the other group had found, and hopefully find something useful. Hotch knew the truth of the matter, profiling was just a compilation of habits and patterns and incomplete data. Predictors, never absolutes. But once you'd seen enough predictions come true like Hotch had, you began to believe in the science.

What type of man—and they all agreed it was a man—could go into someone's home, most likely a neighbor's home, and torture, rape, and kill? What was the trigger, the stressor? What was the similarities between the Jones couple and the Websters? What was it that caught the UNSUB's attention and drew him to those particular families?

What was it, and how could they predict who would be the next target? How could they cut this guy off, prevent him from ripping apart another family?

Hotch just hoped they could do it quickly.


End file.
